


Butcher's Breed

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: Renji is offered a promotion to captain.Pros: Validation and recognition from the entire Gotei Thirteen, political influence over Soul Society, a substantial pay increaseCons: The only squad left in need of a captain is the Twelfth Division
Relationships: Abarai Renji/Hisagi Shuuhei, Abarai Renji/Kira Izuru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Butcher's Breed

Rukia’s office looked nice. Renji never spent much time in the 13th Division Captain’s office, but he knew it would be nice after she finally moved some of Captain Ukitake’s old stuff. After she actually made it hers. 

He couldn’t blame her for procrastinating. Rukia spent so long trying not to touch a thing in the room, even Ukitake’s desk. To do so would be, in her mind, callous. She wasn’t ready to move on. 

She kept his bonsai garden, sitting atop their wooden shelves near the window where they could get lots of light. The sun caught their leaves in waxy streaks of polished jade. Their warped and aged trunks look rather silly, pretending to be dignified from the coddled safety of their little ornate pots. They made the room smell alive and fresh. 

Rukia was finally ready to make the office her own. Renji had given her first office-warming gift; a small, glass-blown vase that now housed a bundle of daisies on her desk. He got the vase from a knick-knack shop, and picked the daisies from the Sixth Division’s extensive ‘contemplation garden’.

When she sat down in her office like this to work, surrounded by plants, Rukia looked very alive and serene. She was chilly by nature, even a bit cold, and it was nice to see her touched by the warmth of the sun and lots of green. Her dark eyes focused on the black ink spreading over her paper, pressing the other end of her pen to pursed lips. When she was mid-thought and let out a long, warm, contemplative sigh, some layers of that icy wall thawed away.

Renji almost felt bad about interrupting her, because she looked so professional and important. But she was still Rukia, she was never too important for him to pester. 

“Hey,” He leaned in her doorway-- he often did, these days. Shoulder slumped casually against the frame. There was an amusing novelty in being so casual with a captain. Renji always liked to push his luck. “Did you wanna tell me something?”

Rukia looked up with a flash of impatience, though it melted just as soon as she saw what was in Renji’s hand. 

A thick, ivory-colored envelope. Emblazoned with the double-octagon insignia of the Central 46. 

The 13th’s young Captain folded her hands over her desk and smiled proudly. Her wide haori-sleeves were pushed up to her elbows. “Oh, good! They got my application. I was worried that they would toss it out without even reading it.”

“Uh-huh.” Renji rolled his eyes and slapped the letter against his palm. “ _ ‘Vice-Captain Abarai Renji, we offer you our congratulations on your approval to take the honored captain’s proficiency test _ .  _ Report to Captain-Commander Kyoraku for details regarding time and necessary preparations before the examination can performed…’” _

“That’s quite a letter.”

“Yeah, now you know as much as I do.” Renji spread his arms and shot an accusing glare. “Rukia, what the fuck?” 

“Kyoraku asked all captains to provide letters of recommendations for promotions. Obviously, you came to my mind first. I thought you would be flattered, you ungrateful oaf.” 

“Why would I wanna be a captain?”

“Um, because you’d be good at it obviously?” Rukia leaned back in her chair. She fixed Renji with a look through her bangs that might have been a subtle shade of disappointment. Renji had a feeling that look alone was devastating to certain subordinates in the Thirteenth. 

The problem with Rukia was that for how reserved she was with her own emotions, Renji knew she was also extremely charismatic. It was one of the many things she had always been better than him at. And it wasn’t because she lied, or stretched the truth to manipulate people. It was because she was only supremely, devastatingly, heart-clenchingly determined.

“The Gotei has need for a capable, strong leader. But more than that, it needs a leader who has the guts to do the right thing under difficult circumstances. You are powerful, reliable, and compassionate. And I’ve seen the way you are around your subordinates in the Sixth Division! Their respect for you rivals even my brother.” 

Funny, how Rukia showering him with compliments made Renji feel exactly one inch tall. “Sometimes you’re really embarrassing, you know that?”

She scoffed, and as she turned her head her short hair bounced against her cheeks. “Whatever. Don’t take the exam then, and see if I care! But I know that you’ll regret not at least trying.” 

A good indicator that you’ve known someone for too long was when they can see through you like you’re made out of goddamn glass. Renji had no retort for her other than to just steam and sulk in Rukia’s doorway. 

She was right, of course. Renji had to take the exam, if only because otherwise he would be agonizing over the ‘what-if’ factor if he didn’t. 

But he dreaded it, also. And Renji knew he wouldn’t be looking ahead with such apprehension if he didn’t know the only division currently still in need of a captain.

  
  


* * *

It had been almost one year to the day that Kurotsuchi Mayuri had been discharged and arrested for crimes against humanity. 

The arrest and subsequent trial had been… a shock to everyone. Not because of the charges raised against him, but that he was even arrested to begin with. For years, Kurotsuchi’s body-count had been so prevalent, so horrifically public, that it became an invisible terror. Everyone knew that something was terribly wrong in the Twelfth Division. That did not mean that anything was done about it.

Shinigami enlisted, expecting that they might be violently killed by monsterous hollows. That was just part of the job description. It was only after they got their uniform and their zanpakuto that they really learned how many ways they could die, and how gruesomely. Turned into living bombs or test subjects. Silenced in order to keep a secret. Subordinates or civilians, it didn’t matter. Anything could be sacrificed for the greater good.

But now Kurotsuchi was returned to the Maggots’ Nest, leading everyone to wonder; what was the breaking point? What new, atrocious sin had he done that finally broke the camel’s back? How many lives did it cost to get to that point? 

Well, Renji didn’t know. Once the glamor of a mass-murderer being locked up drifted away, the practical side of the situation remained. The Gotei was down one captain and one president of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute. 

* * *

  
  


“I am not a scientist. Not even remotely.” This was the main thesis Renji had come to. And dinnertime was his public conference. 

“No. But when you think about it, was Kurotsuchi?” Shuuhei scooped a hearty serving of grilled eel onto Renji’s plate. “I don’t think that man ever went to a university. You’re probably about as qualified as he was.” 

“Not exactly helpful.” 

“It’s a good point, though.” Izuru chipped in on the other side of the table. “I mean, I was in the Twelfth hundreds of times and I never saw a degree on the wall. There was no board of directors overseeing that bastard. Was any of it real science? Like, show me your IRB approval, sir!” 

“Yeah, like what are your hypotheses? You can’t just make some zombies and call it a scientific study. Where’s your program evaluations, you son of a bitch?”

Renji felt a headache coming on. He pressed his forehead against the edge of the kitchen table and began to softly groan to himself. 

Izuru placed his hand on Renji’s back. His voice went from sardonic to soothing like flipping a switch. “Hey, it’s alright. If you don’t want the risk of being saddled with the Twelfth, just don’t take the exam. Let some other idiot take the position. Or, better yet, let the whole place stay empty and rot away. Nothing comes from there except abominations against nature.”

This felt a little like an obvious bait. Renji was sure Izuru was aware that after his treatments during the Blood War, he would be considered one of those abominations. Renji didn’t feel like rising up to it today. 

“Okay, unless.  _ Unless _ …” Shuuhei shrugged, and mumbled around a mouthful of rice. “If Renji takes over the Twelfth and the Research Institute, you could actually use it for good instead of just atrocities. That’s better than hoping the next candidate will be a decent person.” 

“You guys seem very fixated on this idea of what I wanna do.” Renji argued. “I’m saying that I  _ can’t _ do it. Like, physically and mentally. You might as well ask me to stop by Los Noches and become the new king of hollows while I’m at it.” 

“First of all, eat your dinner before it gets cold.” Shuuhei looked pointedly between Renji and the grilled eel he had spent all evening preparing. “Secondly, how hard can it be? They’ll ask you to approve projects and experiments, and if it seems very evil you say no.” 

Renji frowned, and quickly shoved a clump of rice into his mouth before Shuuhei could nag him again. “Yeah, well. That’s even supposing I can pass the exam.” 

“I have a feeling that will be the easy part.” Izuru smirked knowingly, and Shuuhei made a gruff noise of agreement. 

Renji sank into his corner of the table and sulked. Izuru and Shuuhei’s abundance of confidence in him was always disturbing. Doubly so when he suspected they were correct. 

* * *

“Have you prepared for your exam?” 

Normally, Byakuya speaking in that intensely inquiring tone of voice would be a sign for Renji to look up and give his full attention. He had a bad habit of asking questions he already knew the answer to, no matter how much Renji told him it was condescending and that it drove him up the wall.

Renji just wasn’t in the mood for it today. He chewed on the end of his ink brush. “Well, Captain, not really. Ya’ see, nobody told me what the test actually entails yet, so I don’t know how I’m supposed to study.” 

“I meant to ask if you are in a confident headspace.” 

“As much as usual, I guess.” 

Yep, that was Renji for you. Down for anything,  _ he guessed _ . 

He didn’t want to do, you know, this. Have a conversation with Byakuya about his future and stuff. Mostly, he didn’t want to try to find some closure to their relationship when so much between them still felt unfinished. It just wasn’t  _ done _ yet. It was half-baked, at best. Still a little soft and doughy on the inside.

Renji was comfortable in the Sixth Division. Here, he was a known quantity. The ying to Byakuya’s yang, he brought a certain spark that he recognized in the faces of his subordinates. New recruits didn’t just show up on the Sixth’s doorstep because they wanted to lick the heels of the famous Captain Kuchiki Byakuya. They came because Renji invited them, challenged them. 

He knew already, that on the odd chance he actually landed the captain’s vacancy, the Twelfth would not love him the same way. 

In the midst of these thoughts, Byakuya did something very strange. 

He pulled the chair on the other side of Renji’s desk and sat down. 

Renji did look up then. Usually when addressing him, Byakuya would remain standing, or go sit down at his own desk and make Renji come to him. It was wildly annoying.

“I need to confess something.” Byakuya sat stiffly, looking as if he felt about as comfortable as Renji did. “I do not want you to take the exam.”

Renji blinked. What emotion was he even feeling right now? Relieved? Betrayed? The only response he could muster was a simple, “Oh.”

“I don’t want you to take the exam, because you are an extremely valuable lieutenant.” Byakuya continued. He ran his hands over his knees. Renji had never seen Captain Kuchiki fidget like a nervous student before. “I dare say that filling your absence will be one of the more difficult tasks of my career.”

There was no reason why that should feel like a screwdriver being plunged into Renji’s heart and twisted. 

How many years had it been Renji’s dream for Byakuya to acknowledge him? But at some point, Renji convinced himself that was a useless goal. There was never any way he would be as important, as special as the leader of the Kuchiki clan. He told himself it was enough to serve Byakuya as his subordinate, never his equal.

“You know, Captain, you can just tell me not to take the exam.” Renji tried to smile, to flash his teeth with confidence. Daring Byakuya to say he wanted to keep being Renji’s superior. 

“I know this.” Byakuya shook his head. “Which is why I won’t.” 

This was what it really was like, then. The first step to Byakuya really seeing Renji on equal footing.

* * *

  
  


The day of the exam came faster than Renji could have predicted, waking up with a knot of anxiety tying up his insides. 

His partners must have sensed, or perhaps predicted, Renji’s strange mood. Instead of going to work early like he usually would, Shuuhei prepared a huge spread of food for a ‘victory breakfast’. Izuru had somehow procured a small, paper good luck charm and tucked it into the front folds of Renji’s shihakusho. 

They were like embarrassing parents sending their child off on their first day of school. The fuss they made over Renji would have been mortifying, if Renji weren’t still grappling with the enormous stress of what he was about to do. 

  
  


Sometimes Renji felt like he was sick. Not in the traditional sniffly cold, stay home from work kind of way. Sick, like he felt… off. Weaker than usual. Haunted by this dread that something terrible was going to happen, and he was powerless to stop it. 

Perhaps it was learned helplessness. Many things that happened to Renji were out of his control, and then when he did stand up for himself he just got slapped back down again. But Renji was supposed to be strong, confident, and passionate. He didn’t have the luxury of hiding under the covers. That simply wasn’t what Abarai Renji did. 

Izuru and Shuuhei knew that sometimes he got sick. Rukia knew, though Renji never told her in so many words. Momo probably knew. Ikkaku knew because he was the only person who had ever mopped Renji up after an emotional drunken bender, back in his early days in the Eleventh before Renji learned how to bottle that shit up. 

Going to the First Division by himself like this made Renji feel like he was going to be sick. Made him want to run back home and hide. It was so huge, and so clean, it made Renji feel like he was a child. 

No, not a child. An imposter. Renji was a liar, even though he hadn’t told a lie. Being here was the lie. 

Renji had been here before many times, but never for something good. Emergency meetings. War councils, sometimes. Renji walked through the long hallway that he knew led to the Captain-Commander’s audience room. 

He didn’t knock on the door. Renji knew that Kyoraku could sense Renji’s presence approaching from miles away, and that he would wait to enter until he was told. 

Renji was so nervous he wanted to puke. 

“Come on in, Lieutenant Abarai. No need to be shy.” 

He grit his teeth and tried not to immediately fall into an even worse mood than he already was. The only thing worse than everyone encouraging him and setting him up for failure, it had to be someone patronizing him. 

Renji entered the enormous chambers and immediately went down on one knee. This was a formal occasion, after all. He had to mind his manners. 

When he looked up, he saw Kyoraku sitting on his throne, looking more haggard than Renji remembered. The weight of being the highest general was taking its toll on the infamously jovial captain, there were deep lines set into his smiling face and streaks of foggy grey running through his hair. 

Some part of Renji thought this was good and just. Renji lost a lot of friends. Had nearly lost Izuru. Someone had to pay for that. 

(He tried to not also think about Captain Ukitake. About the insurmountable pain of losing someone you loved. Renji felt a web of guilt knit itself inside his throat.)

At Kyoraku’s right hand was, of course, Nanao Ise. Her wooden Zanpakuto was tied to her hip, and she looked down at Renji through her spectacles with an indecipherable mix of emotion. It might have been fascination, or respect, or pity. Renji was never able to clock a good read on the woman. 

There were two more figures in the room, lined up to Kyoraku’s left side. Captain Soi Fon, with her face stony and her hands folded behind her back. And Captain Yadomaru, with her arms crossed over her chest and her hips canted, looking easily like the most relaxed and care-free person in the room. 

Renji had been told beforehand that there would be three captains to oversee his exam, including the Captain-Commander of course. And these two captains were the most logical choices for exam proctors.

For starters, Renji had never been in their division or worked closely with the 2nd or 8th. And he had no close friends in those squads either, so bias in his favor was limited. 

They would be judging him. Harshly, empirically. 

It was interesting though, Renji thought, that the Captain-Commander would make sure that the two people judging Renji were also the two who knew him the least. Did he think that Renji would be judged unfairly if it was by someone who was actually familiar with his abilities?

It was a burning realization. A hard, fast, brutal truth that Renji revealed then, that nobody in this room thought he was capable of passing. 

“Thank you for coming. I’m sure you’re very anxious to get this started, right?” Kyoraku smiled his kindly, fake smile. His good eye stared down at Renji. “Is there anything you need before we begin?”

Renji felt a grin pulling at his lips, but he sealed it quickly. His heart felt lighter. Like rising smoke, like a shower of sparks. Being the underdog was something he knew how to be. As long as people didn’t believe in Renji, as long as they doubted him, then he could immediately feel the bleeding teeth of ambition grip him. The desire to shock everyone and prove them wrong.

He looked up, swinging his hair out of his face to look at the four people who believed in him less than anyone in the world. “Not at all, Captain-Commander.” 

* * *

Zabimaru was a difficult zanpakuto to work with. Renji was sure all shinigami felt that way, but he had the experience to back him up. 

Nues, traditionally, were bad omens. They were bringers of sickness and disaster, and in some ways Zabimaru seemed to take a perverse pride in being such a monster. She was rude, gruff, and pitiless. When she wanted to take Renji down a peg, Zabimaru could say things that twisted the knife in Renji’s gut. She abused her knowledge of his soul without remorse. 

But Zabimaru was also hungry. And her favorite feast was the taste of victory. 

In order to pass the exam, Renji had to demonstrate the power of his bankai. It wasn’t enough that he be able to muster up some fragile, delicate half-form of it. He had to be able to use it effectively. 

The room where the test was to take place had been reinforced with layers upon hundreds of layers of kido walls. No one’s reiatsu could get in or out. 

But, as Renji knew, Zabimaru was hungry. And peacetime didn’t feed her bottomless belly the way that war had. Her serpentine head burned like an exploding star, cracking open her fiery jaws. 

And she ate. 

And ate.

And ate. 

Renji didn’t feel sick anymore. He felt fed. 

* * *

  
  


Kyoraku swore that each of the captain’s haoris was made individually, evidenced by the fact that Renji’s came delivered to him wrapped in white paper and tied with twine. He wasn’t entirely sure, though. The olive-green interior lining of the garment smelled like antiseptic and sterile metal. 

The ceremony was weird. Renji would have liked for Rukia to be waiting with him, before Renji presented himself to the meeting room full of captains. But, of course, she had to be standing at attention to witness him just like everyone else. 

Izuru squeezed Renji’s hand. His bony fingers had a steel grip between Renji’s much bigger ones. “You should be proud.” 

“I feel like I’m about to walk down the aisle and marry twelve people.” Renji responded dryly. As soon as he walked through those doors, everyone would be staring at him. Former superiors and allies alike would watch Renji be introduced as the new leader of the science division, and unanimously go ‘ _really?_ **_Him?_** ”

Izuru dragged Renji’s hand from where it hung by his side, lifted it up to his mouth and kissed Renji’s knuckles. With how much Izuru loathed the Twelfth, what must he be feeling now? Renji hoped that Shuuhei was right, and that this was a change for the better. 

“It will be fine.” Izuru dropped Renji’s hand and stood on his toes so he could brush Renji’s hair off his shoulders. The feeling of Izuru’s nails running through the red strands was grounding. Renji’s eyes closed and he tried to focus on that feeling. “It will be better than fine.” 

Renji nodded. Okay. Yeah, Here he goes. 

The large, swinging doors opened. Renji quickly scanned for Rukia in the rows of captains and kept his eyes focused on her. 

“Come in, Captain Abarai Renji.”

* * *

  
  


The Twelfth Division was a gloomy place. It hadn’t always been that way, but for as long as Renji could remember it had been dark, spooky and weird. 

The courtyards were brown and unkempt, not at all like the trimmed gardens of the Sixth. The walkways were empty of lingering squad members, and no one hung around to socialize. 

Renji clicked his teeth at the empty gate. He hadn’t expected a welcome party or anything, but he certainly hoped his new squad didn’t intend to ignore him. 

Only one person hung around the entrance, seemingly waiting for Renji. Akon was sitting on the huge stone steps in front of the gate, smoking and looking as if he was on the verge of dozing off. When he saw Renji approach, the lieutenant exhaled a stream of dark smoke and snuffed out his cigarette against the wall. 

“‘Morning, Captain.” Renji might have just imagined that his voice was dripping in sarcasm. “Let’s get this over with. Come on in.”

Had Renji ever actually been inside the Twelfth before? He must have, at least for errands and picking up equipment for missions to the World of the Living. Yet it felt alien and unwelcome. 

Akon gave him the grand tour. All the basic trimmings of a division grounds; the barracks, the mess hall, the training grounds. There was actually a pretty normal-looking squad underneath all the doom and gloom. 

And then there’s the Research and Development Institute, and that’s where the trouble came in. 

Glass vats containing various specimens. Enormous computers flashing streams of data. Renji peeked into one of the observational containment units, a phenomenally eerie cross between a doctor’s office and a prison cell.

“So this,” Renji announced, “This is interesting.” 

“Yeah, that’s one word for it. Is this about what you expected?” Akon exhaled a stream of smoke, which rose to the ceiling of the closed room and lingered. 

Renji squinted at one of the beeping machines. This whole building smelled vaguely like cheap disinfectant and instant noodles. “Yes.”

“Our division’s speciality is technology and research, but no one is expecting you to be another Kurotsuchi.” Akon said bluntly. “Obviously, we need a captain who can keep the squad running and represent us like any other unit. That doesn’t mean you have to be a part of the SRDI.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” 

“I was vice-president of the SRDI, so I guess that means I’m now president. So you’ll be in charge of the Twelfth as a whole, and I’ll take care of this grim dungeon. You don’t have to be involved at all.”

That would be… much easier. But it wouldn’t do. Renji shook his head. “That’s not good enough.” 

Akon actually looked surprised. If he had eyebrows, they would have risen. Right under his little horn-things. “No?”

“Look, I mostly knew what I was getting into when I took this position.” Renji thought about what he just said for a minute. “I kinda knew what I was getting into. No disrespect to you, but I agreed to take responsibility for the whole division.” 

Time slowed to a crawl between the two shinigami. Akon’s face was utterly devoid of emotion, like he hadn’t even heard what Renji said. But he hadn’t exactly been a bundle of emotions when Renji walked in, so maybe that was just what his face was like? 

Finally, Akon spoke. “So what are you asking for, specifically?” 

“I wanna be in the loop. On everything. Every project, every experiment that happens here. No secrets.” Renji nodded seriously. He wanted so much for Akon to take him seriously, but he also didn’t want to come in sounding like a hardass right off the bat. Like a Kuchiki or something. “And I want a final say on what projects can go through.”

The other man was quiet for what seemed like hours, but was probably less than seconds. Renji waited to be let down. 

Instead, the scientist just shrugged.

“Done deal.” Akon’s hand flicked his cigarette butt to the floor, with no regard to the papers and such scattered there. He held out that same hand to receive Renji’s. “Welcome aboard, Sir.” 

* * *

  
  
  


After the tour, Renji had to address the officers of the Twelfth Division. His officers. Fuck, that was gonna be hard to get used to. 

Standing in front of the entire Twelfth Division, Renji observed his new subordinates. 

They were a motley crew, to say the least. 

The majority of them were nothing special. Mostly on the scrawny side, looking like perhaps they skipped out on training sessions now and then. Renji could work with that. There were quite a few young bloods in the Sixth Division who thought that because they were in a ‘scholarly’ division, it meant they could get away with slacking off. They soon learned otherwise. 

Other officers looked a lot more like Akon. Horns or scales or markings, something that marked them as a little more or a little less than human. Perhaps it was no wonder that people like this gravitated to a division that was fascinated with oddities. The weirdos, the outsiders, the ones who didn’t fit in anywhere else. 

Now all Renji had to do was give a half-way decent speech. 

“Good morning,” off to a good start. “You probably already heard, my name is Abarai Renji. New captain of the Twelfth Division.” 

Man, he should have written something beforehand. Like a real speech. Whatever, it didn’t matter. Renji spoke loudly, arms folded over his chest, and seemed to absorb everyone’s attention so far just fine.

“I’ll be real with you guys. Right now, the public image of the Twelfth isn’t great. A lot of people see it as a necessary evil, which we probably have my predecessor to blame for that.”

You’re getting distracted, Abarai. Put it back on track.

“The point is, I think we’re better than that. I think…” Renji trailed off mid-sentence. What  _ did  _ he think of the Twelth? That it didn’t have to be evil and filled with pain? That it could one day be a company the Gotei could be proud of instead of merely tolerated?

“I think that this place-- that all of  _ you _ are capable of amazing things.”

Some of the officers were whispering. Perhaps Renji’s pitch was a little too blunt. Better wrap this shit up before he stumbled over his own feet.

“That’s it.” Renji finished. “I look forward to working with you. You’re dismissed, and… thanks.”

The general tone of the room was one of… confusion? Renji was getting a few dirty looks, he could feel them stabbing into his back from the other side of the room. He thought he could get away with dunking on Kurotsuchi with no consequences, but apparently not everyone was as happy to see the ex-captain go. 

“How was that?” 

Akon shrugged. “Could have been worse. Maybe next time, don’t harp so much on how much everyone hates us.”

“I didn’t say everyone  _ hated _ you.” Renji argued. 

“No, but it’s not exactly stunning for morale.”

“What, like Kurotsuchi did better?”

“Say what you will, but he at least kept the troops motivated. One way or another.” Akon flicked the cold, gray end of his cigarette to the floor.

He glanced backwards over his shoulder, scanning the faces of the subordinates beginning to file out of the room. Renji made a mental note to memorize as many as he could, try to build some report with them as a team. Eventually he’d crack through that icy wall that separated him as an outsider. 

And then, something moved. A blur of black flickered between the sea of rustling shihakushos, a shadow slipped out the door and disappeared from sight. 

He couldn’t be sure, but Renji could have sworn he saw a flash of long, black hair. 

* * *

The first few weeks crawled by, and consisted mostly of Renji playing catch-up in order to be on equal footing with his subordinates. Every day stacks of memos found their way into Renji’s inbox, each one was a painfully detailed dissertation on data acquired about the dangai or failed pitches for half-baked experiments that would never see the light of day. 

It was, to be frank, exhausting. But more than exhausting, it was  _ frustrating _ to not understand. To have to read a document five or so times before he could start to understand what it was really about. He hated feeling stupid when he was supposed to be a leader, and all the information flew by his head to quickly. Reading all these dry manuals and dissertations brought Renji’s confidence level from ‘can use long words he read in a book as if he knows what they mean’ down to ‘easily outfoxed by small children and avians’. 

Well. That was what Akon and the rest of the R&D unit was for, Renji supposed. But there were other ways that Renji could run the division. 

“Let’s take it once more from the top! And yes, back corner, don’t think I can’t see you.” Renji’s voice boomed across the training grounds. 

The white glare of sunlight burned against the cold, dry air of a late winter. The grass and trees were gray with frost. It felt good to be outside, and Renji got to enjoy the the freezing, fresh air down his throat and burn his lungs. 

Running drills in the Twelfth was not that different from the Sixth. Renji was dead on the money that most of the officers in this division didn’t exactly value hard work and physical labor as much as their big brains. 

They might think they were too good to do their katas like everyone else. They might even think Renji was wasting his time by insisting they do drills to begin with. But as long as Renji was standing directly in front of them, nobody would dare argue. 

Even so, Renji noticed the pool of officers who showed up for drills was significantly smaller than the ones who appeared for Renji’s welcome ceremony. Some people thought they were sneaky, and could skip without being noticed. They’d know better soon enough. 

“Remember to keep your stances firm, feet rooted to the ground. You have to go into a fight knowing that you can’t be knocked down.”

Renji would make this work. Make this squad respect him. Find his place here, like he had done so many times before.

He had to make this work. It was too late to go back. 

* * *

“It could use some decorum.” 

“It could use a goddamn window, but we don’t all get what we want, do we?”

Renji watched Rukia explore his new office. To no one’s surprise, Kurotsuchi spent more time in the labs than he did in his official workspace, so this room resembled more of a basement storage room. 

The walls and floor were naked cement, and the surface of the desk was barely visible underneath the stacks of paperwork Renji had accrued in the short time he had been leader of the division. Aside from the desk, the closest thing to furniture was the spartan supply shelves pressed up against the wall, holding unused medical equipment. 

He couldn’t lie. Renji was missing some of the Sixth Division’s hoity-toity fancy aesthetics now. 

“What is that smell?” Rukia’s nose wrinkled and she sniffed around the desk area. 

“Do you mean the smell of ammonia, or the mildew? Frankly, I’ve almost stopped being able to pick it up at all.”

“Well, at least you’re getting used to the place. That’s a start.” Rukia opened one of the desk drawers. “Um. Renji, you haven’t cleaned out this desk yet, have you?”

“No. What’s inside it?”

“Goo.” 

“Oh.” Renji said, utterly unsurprised. “Like, how much goo?”

Rukia removed the drawer from it’s slot in the desk and turned it over, dumping the entire contents of a honey-like substance all over the floor. It oozed and spread, faintly glowing orange in the dim light. “This much.” 

Renji stared at the goo with Rukia for a minute, then leaned out the window of his office to shout down the hallway. 

“Akon, send someone from sanitation over.”

“At least it’s a pretty color.” Rukia tilted her head and considered the amber-colored mystery-substance. “Maybe you should think about painting the walls like this. We can get new furniture and stuff in here and make it look less like a nightmare dungeon.” 

“Oh,  _ less _ like a nightmare dungeon? Thank you, what a dream.” Renji rolled his eyes. “Rukia, this place  _ is  _ a nightmare dungeon.”

“Well, obviously! But so was the Sixth, before you came around. Give it some time.” Rukia said. Why was she already so good at this? At being a leader. Though Renji always knew she would be better than him. “For once in your life, be patient!”

Renji scoffed, a noise of disgust curling in his throat dryly. Be patient. He had been patient for thirty years. He had been patient for five after that. He had been born patient, crawling his way up from the bottom.

What did he get for that patience? Honestly? What did he get? Trauma, an inferiority complex, and a stupid haori lined in sickly olive green instead of noble blue. A division that hated him even more than most of the Seireitei hated him. 

Renji made everything he had. It was just never what he wanted. 

* * *

  
  


“Why am I here?”

Akon looked nonplussed. He was used to having a captain who complained a lot. “You said you wanted to be involved in the SRDI. Then you need to have a basic idea of what we do here.” 

At least in this particular laboratory, it was well-lit. And not even a sickly, flickering fluorescent kind of light, but warm and nearly natural. The light vines stretched across the ceilings, gleaming in a web of gold that almost perfectly copied the warm yellow of the Sun. 

Below them, Renji and Akon stood opposite each other over a long, flat metal table. Akon had made Renji scrub his hands repeatedly, and then don a while smock, gloves and mask. He felt kind of goofy, all bundled up in extra layers, but Renji had a sneaking suspicion about what all of this formality was for.

His suspicions were confirmed when Akon wheeled a shape covered in a white sheet up to the table, and had Renji help him transfer the body over. 

“One of the leading projects the SDRI does here and that I preside over is designing gigais. In order to make the perfect artificial body, it helps to study the original blueprint. We also sometimes do autopsies for the Second Division on unsolved deaths.” Akon stated sterilely, and began to roll down the sheet. First revealing the feet of the body, then the head. 

He caught Renji’s narrow look leaning over the edge of his mask. “Don’t make that face. All of the cadavers are donations. Excluding the ones that we investigate. No one was harmed in the making of this corpse-- not by us, at least.”

Renji looked down, seeing something that was almost vaguely like a person. ‘The remains’ was perhaps the best way to put it, considering how most of the skin and flesh was gone. What was left was mostly yellow bones, with occasional scrapes of pink and brown mean clinging on desperately to hold the shape of a face. It looked like raw hamburger meat, and smelled like rotten garbage.

Some part of Renji was, obviously, disgusted. That was the natural reaction to have towards a dead body, especially one that had been ripped so violently out of life. The sight of it, the smell of it was repulsive. It made Renji feel slightly light-headed, as if this was a bad dream and this was the shock to his system that was supposed to wake him up.

But another part of Renji was not nearly as horrified as it should be. It wasn’t frightened or grossed out at all.

How many corpses had Renji seen in his life? How many people had he seen die? In the Inuzuri, a dead person was arguably less scary than an alive one. Renji suddenly vividly remembered being a child and stepping over the mangled legs of a person who he was not sure was dead or simply very close to it. Of the stinking, sweaty summer heat causing bodies to bloat, and carrying them with Rukia to the shallow graves they had dug. 

And what about as an adult? When he was on the front lines and saw an unfortunate ally fall. Everyone knew it was part of the job. Renji knew, death was not something you could ever rule out. It waited and it crawled, tangling itself around every facet of life. Everything died, and everything left something behind after it was dead. 

“How did they die?” Renji asked, almost in a whisper. 

“In this situation you say ‘what is the cause of death’.” Akon said tersely, and rolled the sheet further down over the corpse’s mangled chest. There were three deep gashes in the flesh, like enormous claws or teeth had scraped it. “This was the victim of a hollow attack. Fortunately, the hollow was terminated before it could finish eating the entire body, so we get to analyze the corpse.”

“Just the hollow attack?” 

For the first time, Akon paused. “What do you mean ‘just the hollow attack’?”

“This cut on his neck.” Renji reached over, his hand hovering over the corpse’s face, when Akon’s hand suddenly shot out to grab his wrist and prevent him from touching.

Renji was rather used to having his hands slapped away from things he ought not to touch, so he didn’t consider this a big deal. Akon, however, seemed to immediately realize the implications of halting his superior officer, and pulled his hand away. “Sorry. Habit.”

“I’ll be careful.” Renji assured him, and stooped his shoulders down that he could get a closer look at the body’s throat. 

Two latex-covered fingers gently prodded a thin line running over the windpipe, finding very little resistance as he pushed his way in. The layer of rubber prevented Renji from feeling the raw meat, but he already knew what it felt like. Cold, and soft. A little rubbery. 

Renji had cut and been cut with a sword so many times, trying to list them all would be like asking how many meals he had ever eaten in his life. He recognized the kiss of a blade slicing through skin and muscle, and the scar that it left when metal scraped against the bones of the spine.

“This is a sword cut.” Renji said with absolute confidence. “Claws don’t leave marks like that.” 

Akon blinked, and then stopped blinking for a long time. He leaned in close to where Renji was pointing and squinted. His black eyes looked up at Renji’s covered face, and then back down, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. If Akon could emote, he would certainly be displaying surprise.

“Well. I’ll be damned. Laceration on the fifth vertebrae.”

Renji let himself feel momentary pride. More than that, though, he felt deeply smug. This was the first time in a long time he felt like he was sure what was going on. 

“Still, we have to complete the rest of the autopsy before we can declare cause of death. Are you game?” 

Renji was.

  
  


Akon guided Renji through the steps of the autopsy. Which scalpel to pick up, where to cut, what to take out. Renji followed every instruction to the best of his ability, though sometimes he didn’t understand Akon’s clinical lexicon or precise orders. 

But one thing Renji was very good at was cutting 

Akon’s eyes closely followed Renji’s hands, careful to make sure Renji didn’t make a mistake and quick to chastise him when he did. 

“You’re surprisingly calm.” He said at one point, as Renji removed each lung and placed it on the scale. 

“Do I? I feel nervous, to tell you the truth.” Renji replied, and placed each organ in it’s specified bowl sitting on the cart, the silver material turning ruby-red with congealed blood. 

“Then you’re at least good at hiding it.”

“Wouldn’t have gotten this far if I couldn’t.” 

They were done, then. And what they had was less a body now and more of an empty husk. Hollow, like a rotten log. 

An unexpected spike of sorrow hit Renji in the chest. He wasn’t used to feeling sympathy for strangers. Not that he was a callous monster or anything, just that there was far too much misery in the world for Renji to do himself the disservice of obsessing over it. He had a hard enough time with just feeling sorry for himself.

Still, he had the good graces to remember that this had once been a person. Someone with thoughts, feelings and dreams. 

Renji thought again of the sword cut on their throat. What Akon called a ‘laceration with a sharp implement’. The horned man scraped reiatsu particles off of the wound, and Renji burned with the knowledge that if someone murdered this person, he would stop them from getting away with it.

* * *

Over time, things evened out into a routine. Renji would come to work early in the morning with an emphasis on combat training, set on molding the officers of the Twelfth into semi-respectable warriors. It was work that sorely needed catching up on, and had the added benefit of keeping Renji out of his office so he didn’t have to sit in the basement with paperwork. 

He wanted to build some trust with the squad as well, and working with them to improve their techniques was helpful in that.

A lot of them were jumpy, suspicious of the slightest hint of hostility. Renji tried to invite a young officer to spar with him, and her face fell as if Renji had just announced her public execution. That kind of reaction wasn’t surprising, considering their previous leadership. But it was bothersome.

Renji took to eating lunch in the mess hall or on the porch. Normally he took his lunch in his office, or went out to one of the small restaurants in the Seireitei. It was a little private moment of tranquility, a break from work before going back in for the second half of his day. But Renji made himself stay available during lunch hours, inviting conversation. 

And the invitation was, eventually, taken. 

One particular afternoon, Renji lowered his bowl of miso from his lips to spot a peculiar, curly shape poking out from a nearby pillar. 

The curly shape was attached to the head of Kobayashi Mai, the 8th seat of the Twelfth Division. He remembered her quite well, not least of all because of the distinct large ram’s horns that sprouted out of her skull and curled around her temples. 

Renji watched her peek at him from behind the pillar before blushing and ducking back down, sparking a quiet symphony of muffled giggles. 

He put aside his bento box and thermos, a smug grin beginning to pull at his lips. Fascination was far preferable to indifference and fear, and he was used to being gawked at. 

The huddle of young shinigami weren’t eagle-eared enough to hear Renji approach, though they froze quickly when his shadow stretched over them. Four wide, fearful faces turned up onto Renji, Mai and her companions, two other girls and one boy, shrank under Renji’s eyes. 

They were a weird lot, all of them in this squad. But they were just normal kids. 

“You guys look like you have some free time,” Renji gestured to the porch he had been sitting on. “As long as you’re taking a break from your work, you’ll keep me company while I finish lunch.”

  
  


“Is it true, then? That you single-handedly killed a Sternritter?”

“Uh,” Renji chewed thoughtfully on a slice of carrot. “I don’t know about single-handedly. Muguruma and Otoribashi softened him up first.”

The other girl who asked the question paled, and Renji latently remembered that not everyone had gone through the war with a mere slap on the wrist like himself. Lots of people were killed, and more of them lost good friends. “That’s so scary…”

Renji’s brain struggled for a follow-up statement, but the single boy cut in. He had a white patch over his left eye. Renji didn’t try to guess too hard about how it was lost.

“Forget about that! What about the time you broke out of jail and took out half of the Sixth Division? Or when you fought Captain Kuchiki?”

“You guys are kinda embarrassing me…” 

This was much better. Hell, it was even nice. The officers hung on Renji’s every word, and they seemed to be amazed when Renji didn’t immediately snap at or scold them.

The officers at the Sixth Division had warmed up to Renji after a while. But it always felt like he was at risk of being upstaged by Byakuya. The Sixth Company had been led by the Kuchikis for at least 3 generations. It was a squad of legacies, of history. Would Renji ever really have a place there of his own, if he had stayed?

Then again, did he really have a place here?”

“Hey, can I ask you guys something?”

The seated officers turned to him with eyes shining with curiosity. “What is it, Captain?”

“This is probably a weird question for your captain to ask,” Renji bounced his knee. His captain’s haori felt heavy on his shoulders, his body suddenly far too large and heavy. Like the porch might collapse underneath him, like these kids might be crushed in the pull of his gravity. “What did you really think of Kurotsuchi?”

To say you could have heard a pin drop would have been an understatement. You could have heard a drop of blood drip off the needle of a syringe. You could have heard five heartbeats pounding in a halted staggered system. 

Mai, the ram-horned girl, swallowed dryly. She twisted her fingers in her lap. “C-captain Kurotsuchi is one of the most exceptional minds in the Soul Society. He’s on an entirely different level than the rest of us. You have to admire his brilliance.”

Renji raised his inked eyebrows. “But you didn’t like him, did you?”

All four officers seemed suddenly to become fascinated with their shoes, unwilling to look up at Renji’s face. 

He held a sigh down in his chest. Renji lifted one heavy hand and placed it on Mai’s shoulder. She flinched away from the touch, but relaxed when she realized that he had gone still.

“Not ready yet. I get it.” He decided. “We’ll get there.” 

* * *

  
  


After the morning had officially rolled by, Renji turned his attention to the SDRI. When he passed through the large double-doors, decorated with teeth and eyeballs around the doorframe, he was borderline shocked that he wasn’t immediately assaulting with the stench of corrosive chemicals and decay. 

Renji peeked around the hallways, into the observation rooms, all of which were still dark and dank, but appeared to have been cleared of clutter and wiped down. 

Akon shadowed him, as he usually did. He liked to watch Renji like a vulture, the smell of tobacco and coffee sticking to his skin. 

“What’s wrong now?” He asked tonelessly, watching Renji pick up jars from the now neatly organized supply cabinets and cautiously peek inside.

“It doesn’t stink in here!”

“Well, no. You kept whining to Rin and Hiyosu about the smell and the oozing, so they put in an order with the custodial team to clean up. What’s wrong? Still not as fancy and nice as the Sixth Division?”

Renji’s brow furrowed, setting all the glass containers down and staring at Akon in utter befuddlement. “So it got cleaned up just like that?”

“Of course.” Akon chewed on the end of his cigarette. “You get that, like, you’re in charge now, right? If you want something, you can just ask for it. That’s what being the captain  _ means. _ ”

Oh yeah. Renji forgot the absolutely insane amount of influence that all captains had. And that he now had as well. 

“That’s kinda creepy.” 

“I think you might just be weird. Can we get started, now?”

  
  


Captain and lieutenant would take the staircase down, down, down into the lowest level of the laboratory. Where the air was coldest, a chill touching Renji’s fingers and raising goosebumps on the back of his neck. 

He would put his hair up in a bun to keep it out of the way. He would wiggle into the various protective layers of clothing, the smock and the mask and the gloves, until his skin was cocooned from any exposure. Until he looked at his reflection in the metal of the sterilized surgical tools, and recognized nothing except for his eyes. 

Akon would wheel out the cadaver that needed operating on, and guide Renji through every minut detail. Where to cut, what to take out, how to sew back up. What marks on bones indicated that a blow was lethal or simply life-threatening. How to measure the rate of decomposition. In what ways a shinigami might be killed by a hollow, or perhaps some other gruesome end. 

It was not the worst work Renji had ever done. Not by a long shot. And it was nice to think that he was giving these departed spirits some closure, maybe softening the blow to their friends and family by providing some answers to their death. 

He liked having tasks to complete, as well. Izuru and Shuuhei were the kinds of people who liked to exercise their brains, Renji thought that he was probably more simple than that. He liked a straight-forward goal, and he liked the the matter-of-factness involved when working with death. He completed the dissection, made notes of his observations, maybe discussed it with Akon if additional action was necessary, then moved on to the next one.

Akon wasn’t much for chatting, only speaking to correct Renji when he was doing something wrong. Those corrections seem to become less and less frequent. Until finally Akon finished the dregs of his last cigarette of the pack and dropped the still-glowing butt on the laboratory floor. 

In a voice that sounded almost like a twist between pride and defeat, he made his announcement; “You have the makings of a decent mortician.” 

It was true. The tiny little surgical tools no longer felt so awkward in his huge hands. His stomach no longer fluttered at all at the sight of a dead body being opened. Death rolled off of him, and then it became just another job to do. 

* * *

That particular training took up the entire afternoon, and sometimes a slice of his evening as well. Renji peeled out of his protective garb before glancing up at the clock and realizing he was late for dinner. God, this place was so dark he never knew whether it was the beginning of the day or the end of it. 

Renji started up the staircase, thoughts already on getting something in his stomach and then taking a long, hot bath, until his daydream was suddenly broken. There was a flash of quick movement, just like before. A streak of black that disappeared into the shadows like a startled cat. 

His shoulders tensed, Renji tried to follow the movement with his eyes. He had gotten pretty familiar with this place, but who knew if Kurotsuchi had one of his terrible experiments running loose in the labs? 

He thought that he saw the thing zip down a hallway before disappearing around the corner. And Renji was struck with the realization that he didn’t recognize this hallway at all. He never had to come down to this corner of the laboratories yet.

Apparently, though, someone else was down here. One door was slightly ajar, spilling a triangle of yellow light across the floor. Well. If Renji had to catch some sort of abomination, he might as well get it over with sooner than later. 

Renji reached for the door, only to have it suddenly slammed shut by the grim figure of Akon. 

“It’s late, Captain Abarai.” The lieutenant said towards the floor. “You can go on home. I left a few things out that I oughta put away for the night.”

Hmm. Creepy! Still, Renji knew when he was being move-alonged. He cocked his head, hands set on his hips. 

“What’s in there?”

Akon actually grimaced, his usually stony mask of a face showing his teeth and anxiety. “Nothing you need to worry about. Look, it won’t bother you again, so can you just leave and then later I’ll explai--”

Renji was not a scientist. But he was very, very strong. Maybe Akon had forgotten that fact, maybe he just wasn’t expecting Renji to pick him up by the scruff like a kitten and set him aside, fear and disgust curdling inside his stomach. 

Of course, just as Renji was finally settling in, he would discover some horrific experiment or accident running around in the halls. Some patch-work monstrosity born out of hubris, because that was exactly the kind of place this was. 

Renji opened the door and prepared to stare down whatever creature it was that Akon was trying to keep secret. 

* * *

  
  


Renji had not been close to Nemu Kurotsuchi. Nobody had been. She was not the kind of woman that one made friends with. 

She had an empty voice, like an echo in a cave. She had dead, black eyes that stared right through you, like the button-eyes on a doll. Her presence was like a shadow, not really present even when she stood in the room. Renji was not sure he ever had a single conversation with her. Why would he? It wasn’t as if she would have anything interesting to say. 

That wasn’t why people didn’t like Nemu, though. It wasn’t even her faithful obedience to her monster of a father, or her willingness to carry out every whim that came into his demented head. 

What kept people away from Nemu was the danger of knowing too much. Of noticing the bruises on her legs that peeked out from under her skirt, or the red scars on the back of her neck under her braid. Neither she nor Kurotsuchi ever even tried to hide the injuries, knowing that everyone would turn a blind eye anyway. 

Nobody wanted to know why Nemu was so soft-spoken and obedient towards her father. To know the depth of cruelty and evil happening behind closed doors. Like everything that the former captain of the Twelfth did, nobody could change it so there was no point trying to do anything about it.

There was no funeral for Nemu when she died. So many people had been killed, and there were so many dear friends to bury that Nemu’s loss simply… blended into the background, a tiny piece of a greater tragedy. 

Nobody even wondered what Mayuri had done with her corpse.

* * *

Whatever Renji had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. 

The walls were bare white, but had been drawn all over in chalk. Smudged depictions of cotton-candy trees, stick-legged kittens and rainbow flowers. A child-sized futon with a frilly pink cover sat in the corner of the room with a matching pink dresser beside it. A few worn-looking dolls and stuffed animals were lined up in rows. 

It was definitely a little girl’s room. Complete with a little girl. 

“You’re not Mayuri-sama!” 

“No.” Renji agreed, staring down at the child a little warily. 

She was the spitting image of Nemu, though she couldn’t have been older than four. Her long, black hair was tied in a rather messily-done ponytail, her black eyes narrowed at Renji with obvious displeasure. 

“Only Mayuri-sama and Akon-nii can come into my room! No strangers!”

“Akon-nii?” Renji raised an eyebrow. 

Akon himself just frowned, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his lab coat. 

“Nemuri, Behave yourself.” He said, voice rather weary. The patient but exhausted strain of caring for a rowdy child. “This is the Captain you’re speaking to.”

“No!” Nemuri’s tiny, soft hands ground into fists like tiny meatballs. Renji half-expected her to have the same quiet, toneless voice of Nemu, but the little girl’s voice was nearly shoulding and it trembled with rage. “Mayuri-sama is the captain! I want Mayuri-sama!” 

“Hey--” 

Before Renji could do anything else, the girl vanished out the door and disappeared from sight. It must have been shunpo, because the only other child Renji had ever seen move like that was Yachiru. And just like that, she was gone.

Renji turned a withering gaze on his lieutenant, who at least had the grace to avert his eyes guiltily.

“What the fuck dude?”


End file.
